I went to Florida without you. Well...technically I brought you with but....
Matt drove too fast and I was worried the whole time.
When you drove us, I felt a sense of trust and safety.
The ocean wasn't the same without you sitting beside me.
Nobody fished. Nobody sat in the sand with me at 6:00 in the am drinking coffee and watching the birds.
Nobody ate Crab legs until they were ill. Nobody wanted me to make chicken salad.
Alcohol helped me sleep alone in a strange bed in a strange condo.
Kena was a trooper and tolerated the entire 17 hour drive down.
I was worried about her but she did just fine.
We left pieces of you there, in the waves, like you asked us to.
It was harder than I thought it would be...setting you adrift.
I miss your strength, I miss your touch, I miss the sound of your voice.
I hate that you aren't here with us anymore.
I hate cancer and I hate what it did to you,
And I hate how sad I am that you aren't here with me.
The dog hogs the bed and I long to hear you snore.
I pay the bills and I changed cable companies.
I wash my clothes and sometimes I wear yours.
There are 4 pork roasts in the freezer and I eat toast every day for dinner.
Nothing is the same and every thing is different.
I want to talk to you so bad... it feels like an ache.
Grief is the loneliest planet to live on.
